Tag: tv

I’m Still Married!

OUR WORLD:

How many more times are people going to write the “Exercise is the Best Distraction!” article during quarantine?  We get it, working out is good for you.  Yet these writers and trainers and celebrities wearing sports bras and cool jogging pants, can’t wait to share this “discovery” with anyone who has a pulse.  You might as well write an article entitled “Shooting Yourself in the Head Does Not Increase Life Expectancy”.

I do hope that this HISTORICALLY SIZED ordeal leads to a more empathetic and compassionate society, but…can we not turn into dopes who nod at every BLATANTLY OBVIOUS suggestion thrown our way?  If the only people outside of our family that we’re directly interacting with are Peloton trainers named Hannah, I’m worried we’ll all become amateur motivational speakers who confuse ambiguous platitudes with wisdom.  Yes, I checked dictionary.com to make sure I was using ‘platitudes’ correctly and that’s exactly the kind of unfiltered honesty we need right now!  That’s why you’re here!  That’s why I’m here!  THAT’S WHY WE’RE IN THIS RIDE TOGETHER NOT ALLOWING OUR INNERSELVES TO TELL US TO STOP RIDI–Wait.  Did you…Did I…Jesus Christ you guys, I’m starting to talk like Peloton Hannah.

Yes, exercise is the best distraction right now.  I’m not arguing that because I agree with it and because I bought an exercise bike and the Peloton app and I really wanted to tell you that.  BUT! How about some real-life, salt of the earth, HONEST other “best” distractions? Remember, the point is to distract your brain for the sake of your mental health.  Let’s bend the rules a bit, and prioritize honesty, shall we?

GETTING IN ARGUMENTS ABOUT SOMETHING SMALL AND BRINGING IN PAST DISAGREEMENTS AND OTHER UNRELATED ISSUES TO MAKE IT BIGGER

(Right when I started to write this section, I took WAY too big of a bite of a banana and now I’m thinking that mondo-sized banana bites are a top-tier corona distraction…PUSH PAST THIS, JIMMY!  DIG DEEP!)

Allow me to paint a picture:  You’re cooking dinner for your sweet, sugar baby on a Tuesday night.  Seasoning raw chicken with your bare hands is gross but you do it because you love your cutie pie, sugar baby.  Cutting vegetables you aren’t even excited about eating with a purple knife that isn’t sharp enough.  Talking yourself out of adding potatoes to round the dish out because you’ve eaten 6.7 pounds of pretzel rods over the last 36 hours.  “All I really want is chicken and vegetables,” is ALWAYS a lie, but it’ll make you both feel superior to the rest of the world for one meal, so that’s the plan.

Midway through prep, cleaning while you cook so the love of your entire life doesn’t have to lift a finger even afterwards, you notice an old paper grocery bag has reappeared…next to your newly purchased $100 garbage can.  You’ve seen this arrangement before, but she vowed to retire it once you agreed to the $100 stainless steel trash can purchase.

“Sweetheart?  What is this?”

“What is what babe?”

(Now with a hint of an edge) “This,” you say as you remain “calm”, but point.

She lets out an audible sigh (aka the couple fight’s starting whistle) and heads over to the kitchen.  When she arrives to see her HUNK of a husband standing in place while pointing at a paper bag on the ground, she knows what he’s pointing at, but MUST ask once again.

(With a distinctly annoyed tone) “What?”

This is where the fight begins and GOOD GOD is it a delicious distraction!  As you smack your lips in anticipation, remember NOT TO HOLD BACK!  NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO SLOW DOWN! (Peloton Hannah would be so proud!)  Nope!  Bring up the thousands of makeshift “grocery bag garbage cans” you’ve had to clean up in all of the years you’ve been together.  Make special mention of how now that you live in the suburbs, you can’t simply throw an open bag into a dumpster, before reminding her of the SOLEMN OATH that she took the day you agreed to put your CC # in the space below the ONE HUNDRED GODDAMN DOLLAR GARBAGE CAN SHE PICKED OUT ON LOWES.COM!

Was it an honest, no-big-deal mistake on her part?  A thoughtless, harmless error?  Uh, that doesn’t fucking matter, guys.  We’re trying to preserve our mental health by engaging in “distractions.”  So dig in, embrace your initial testosterone fueled reaction, and say something grand, like, “It’s fine, I’ve just resigned myself to having to pick up random trash bags wherever you feel like setting one up FOR THE REST OF MY GODDAMN LIFE!”

This is when she’ll be sure to point out that you are overreacting.  (Thanks Sherlock!)  And, like she’s reading the line from a script that never had a chance of being bought, she drops a “calm down” like the sledge-hammer those two words are.

Your move Jack!

“Oh, calm like you?  Like how you were the first time you met my ex?  Okay, yeah, I’ll be calm like you!”

And boom, enjoy the next few hours of not having every thought in your brain begin with, “wait, when was the last time I washed my hands?”

ROAD RAGE

If you haven’t been on the highways during quarantine, you are missing an opportunity to fear for your life from something other than THE INVISIBLE ENEMY.  Nope, on these roads the enemy is very visible, in the form of a 2009 Nissan Altima with tinted windows that just swerved in front of you going 97MPH in a driving rain.  THIS IS WHAT WE TRAIN FOR!!!!

Normally, the move would be to throw that invisible frisbee through the roof of your car and blurt out a panicked “Jesus!” before calming down by talking to yourself about how there should be an IQ test to get your license.  But not now.  This ain’t normal times!  Now, you should speed up a little.  Maybe even a lot, while laying on the horn.  Widen your eyes, open your capillaries and allow the rage to coarse through your entire body.

Do you have a gun?  Wave it!

Now, because it’s an Altima, you’re not going to want to pull even with it.  Let’s be real, Nelson and his Tinted Windowed Nissan ALSO has a gun.  But, he’s not going to be able to shoot you if you stay behind him.  So that’s all you have to do.  Get close enough to where this piece of human waste for driving faster than he should, can see you doing the Macarena with a pistol in his rearview.  THAT’LL TEACH HIM!

On the off off off chance that a cop pulls you over, just explain to him that you were looking for a worthy enough distraction to preserve your mental health, and Nelson’s Nissan was the exact tonic you were searching for!  If that doesn’t work (which it most certainly will not) well then you’re fucked and will probably be brought into the Police station.  But, if you’re charged with whatever people are charged with for waving firearms while driving, at least you’ll have something other than your last meal to talk about on your next Zoom call.

ZOOMING IN ON EVERY PICTURE TEXTED TO YOU TO FIND, AND CALL OUT ANY IMPERFECTIONS

In this one group chat I’m in, any time someone sends a picture, the rest of us zoom in on every other part of the picture that’s not THE FOCUS of what the sender intended.  Picture of their kid holding up a book?  We’re all frantically zooming around the rest of the frame looking for something…anything…that doesn’t look the way that it should—GOT IT!

“What’s with this?” is sent right below a zoomed in screen shot of a beer can in the upper right corner of said picture.  This will be followed by a barrage of hyper-critical texts along the lines of: “Wow, drinking already?” “Does your wife know you’re drinking?” “How many is that?” “When’s the last day you didn’t have 9 beers?” “Mix in a water!”

Before Dad of The Year knows it, his innocent baby picture has turned into a shame fest, devolving from sarcastic jabs, to pleas to change the subject, to finally, a legitimately angry “I’m not drinking!”

It’s never not fun.

  

MY WORLD:

Three years ago today, I got married to the VP of Ops.  To commemorate our 3rd anniversary on a blog that brings in zero dollars and has caused a few tiffs (wait, you’re seriously mad that I wrote about how you wear the same black shirt like 3 days a week?  Oh…yeah, slam the door! REAL MATURE!!!)  I’m going to write about what I remember about our first date: on May 3, 2013.

            It was a cold, dark night.  A baby’s cry in the distance.  A beggars cup rattled in between the hurried footsteps of guilt-ridden businessmen playing deaf.  “What a world we live in,” I grumbled as I lit up a cigarette under a dim moonlight.  Wait.  Shit, sorry.  Wrong night.  That’s right, the night before our first date I was probably about to get smashed on 9 IPAs or something, when my roommate, Mike, asked if I wanted to go to a concert with him, his new girlfriend, and HER roommate.

“She a girl, right?” I slurred.  Upon confirmation that “she a girl,” I quickly accepted the offer in my head, but had to do the thing where I acted like I had to think about it for a second.  I did this by looking up and saying “uhhh….”  (ACTING!)  Actually, turns out that I was the 2nd choice for this date.  My other roommate, a whiny little bitch of a human, who I’ve made cry multiple times in fights, called “Daaaaaaaave” , was asked before I was and turned down the offer.  (Years later, Dave loves to remind me of this and how I basically owe my marriage to him.  In response, I bring this up to the VP and she reminds me how much better looking I am than Dave.  So, now that’s in writing.)    

Anyway, upon accepting, I asked for a scouting report on the roommate from Mike, he said “she’s super fun, really cute, but I won’t lie, she’s kinda boy crazy.”  I’ve told The VP this and she gets mad every time.  She assures me that she wasn’t “boy crazy” (is “boy crazy” the delicate way of saying “slutty”?  We’ll never know!)  Instead, she reams Mike out and talks about how she would “like go on dates, but I wasn’t boy CRAZY.”  Who do I believe?  What do I believe?  I don’t know, who cares? Honestly, the “boy crazy” thing didn’t really faze me.  I was too busy looking through her pictures on Facebook and trying not to say things like “she’s too hot for me”-out loud.  Because, that was the thing, my confidence was still a minor issue back then (back then? Jimmy, you asked Erin how you looked yesterday after meeting a middle-aged neighbor for the first time.  It still ain’t great!) but seeing a bunch of hot girl pictures from her college sorority days definitely rattled my nerves.  I wanted to ask Mike if he thought I was pretty enough for her, but Mike and I were in the beginning stages of our friendship so…I COULDN’T LET HIM KNOW THAT I WAS AN INSECURE BABY YET EITHER!!!

The 24 hours leading up to the date consisted of me going for a long run because I used to be able to do that without stopping after 13 minutes to use my “bad ankle” as an excuse.  (“No, it’s not the fact that I drink too much and enjoy dessert every night, it’s this damn ankle!”)  After the run, I did what back then was about the bravest thing I could do…I decided to wear the J.Crew hoodie that was a little too small on me.  I’ve always SUCKED at buying clothes, which means that I normally only have one “hey, is he a cool guy?”-outfit available.  This J.Crew hoodie (that my mom probably bought for me years prior) hadn’t gotten much wear because it was the “is this guy in good enough shape to wear something this fitting?”-size.  But this hot-girl-date-night called for me to at least pretend like I could pull off this snug hoodie.  Looking back, I pulled that hoodie OFF!  (Allow me a few seconds to be sad about how much worse looking I’ve gotten in the years since…Hey!  Looks aren’t everyth—goddamnit, yes they are.  They are.  They’re everything, and I have none of them and…I have nothing.  I am empty.)

The plan was for Mike and I to go to the girls’ apartment in Lakeview, have enough drinks for me to feel not paralyzed by “Excuse me girl, am I hot enough?”-thoughts and then go to a concert at The Metro (cool person music venue by Wrigley Field that I had never been to before, but I definitely didn’t admit that, that night.  I’m sure I said something along the lines of “Metro?  Love the Metro!”)  As we walked into their garden-level unit, I did that acting thing again where I pretended like I didn’t need to guzzle rubbing alcohol to feel comfortable.  The VP was still getting ready, so I had time to settle on what pose I should be in when she entered the living room.  The VP’s roommate, Amanda, put on some music and gave Mike and I NOT NEARLY ENOUGH BOOZE!  Mike and I waited in the living room with Amanda, which meant that Mike and his new girlfriend, Amanda, made eyes at each other while paying enough fake attention to me to temper the bubbling awkwardness.

Finally, after what must have been more than 4 MINUTES, The VP entered the living room with a spin.  I’m not joking, she walked in, waved and before introducing herself, she just spun around.  It was so fucking cool.  As I scrambled to say something interesting after introducing my DUMB self, the song “Mirrors” by Justin Timberlake came on.  Mike and Amanda were being all gooey with each other across the room, leaving all the pressure in the world on me to say something at least MILDLY entertaining.  (Has anyone mentioned your tiny sweatshirt yet?) 

“You know, I don’t care what anyone thinks, this song fucking rules.”  That was the first sentence I said to my now-wife.  And she FRIGGIN’ LOVED IT!  Honestly, I could tell in real-time that she thought, “whoa, this guy is secure enough to say that he loves a Justin Timberlake song on a first date.”  Two things on that: 1) I wasn’t, but 2) You have to remember that back in 2013, Justin Timberlake wasn’t super cool yet.  He was still “that boy band guy,” so it wasn’t the coolest thing for a guy to freely admit that he was into “that boy band guy.”  My gamble paid off.  Now, she thought I was secure enough to be with her “I know I’m fine as hell”-ass, AND she thought I was funny because who says that out of nowhere?  THIS GUY DOES!

From there, the drinks were a flowin’!  JIMMY IN HIS EL-E-MENT BABAYYYYY!  (So, your element is drinking?  Cool, I bet her Mom is so happy she found you!)  By the time we walked over to the Metro, I couldn’t have cared less about who we were going to see.  I was going to talk to The VP through the whole show and not give A CARE what was going on on-stage. Seriously, Jon Lenon could’ve been resurrected for a one-night only Beatles reunion show that night, and I wouldn’t have taken an iPhone pic.  Now, it didn’t help that the band we were seeing was called “Purity Ring”—a band that neither The VP nor myself had ever heard of.  What did that mean?  You guessed it, WE ‘GON BE TALKIN’ THROUGH THE ENTIRE SHOW!!!! Yeah, legit fans of “Purity Ring” were about to HATE us…and they did.

Midway through the song about being pure or wearing rings or whatever, I got “shushed” by a (do I say what I really thought?  Even though it’ll make me sound like a meathe–) dude who looked even wimpier than me in my tiny J.Crew hoodie.  So you bet your ass your ass I responded to his “shush” with a hearty “go fuck yourself!”  Yeah, I did!  Listen, if you’re not drooling at the opportunity to show a girl who’s WAY hotter than you that you’re tough, as early as possible, I don’t know what to tell ya!  Trust me, I did the whole sensitive guy thing throughout high school and you know how many dates that got me?  ZERO!  ZERO DATES!

From there, I reveled in being public enemy number one at this show.  Now, if this were a Metallica show, would I have been so excited to be hated by everyone around me?  Absolutely not.  In fact, I would have been quite scared…maybe even cried.  But this wasn’t a Metallica show.  This was a “Purity Ring” show, a band that’s following primarily worked as freelance graphic designers who can’t wait to talk about their “disgust with consumerism” at every family gathering.  It was the perfect setting for a fake tough guy (Me) to act tough. And while The VP will say that she hated it and hates tough guys and likes sensitive guys and blah blah blah.  She loved it.  I could tell, she loved that I told that guy to “go fuck himself.”  She was impressed in that way you get when you’re uncomfortable but thrilled that you’re not next to the “shusher.”

When the show ended, The VP and I realized that we hadn’t listened to one song throughout the entire set (like I said, we were the worst people in that concert.  Hand up, we were “those people.”)  We met up with Mike and Amanda, and decided to all take a picture together.  This is my favorite picture ever.  I remember looking at it the next day and thinking “I actually pulled off the tiny hoodie!  And…I think I really, really like this girl.”

VP, I love you enough to act tough when I’m really not; to dress cool when I really can’t; and to…care for a psychopath dog that I bought for you to get out of momentarily “forgetting” your birthday ONE TIME!  (I didn’t REALLY forget it and that’s final and I will go to the Supreme Court to prove my innocence!)  

Honestly, I’m looking forward to my first suburban tiff with a guy I think I can take, because no feeling is better than the one I get impressing you.

Happy Anniversary.  I love you.

IMG_5778

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This song still kicks LIKE A MULE!

 

K, bye.

Vanderpump Rules…It Really Does

OUR WORLD: 

I want you to know that I’m writing this section knowing full-well that my Dad will read it and shake his head through the first 3 sentences before leaving his computer in disgust.  Revealing your love of Bravo reality television to a father who has arthritis in his hand from all the fights he has been in, isn’t exactly a “welcomed confession.”  Nevertheless, I am a brave boy (I am Dad! DAD! I AM!)  and I will carry on with my stated mission of GIVING JAX TAYLOR THE CREDIT HE DESERVES!!!!

I don’t remember what season I got into “Vanderpump Rules”, but it was one of the first “I’m gonna be honest here”-moments I had with The VP of Ops.  You know when you’re still in the early stages of dating and you’re scared to tell your girlfriend ANYTHING that may cause her to be like “oh wait, this isn’t gonna happen anymore”?  The VP and I were nearing the end of that phase when I “let” her watch an ep of “Vanderpump Rules” at my apartment.  I pretended like I didn’t care and wasn’t paying attention but then something happened…Jax Taylor walked on screen.  Early-Vanderpump Jax was who most stupid bartenders wanted to be in real life…and I was a stupid bartender at this point in my life.   He was dude-funny and likable on a show run by guys who just care too much about their hair (Sandoval) and girls who were about as likable as a porcupine pillow.  What episode was it?  I could lie, but I have no idea.  It probably included Stassi yelling “It’s my birthday!”, Sandoval crying and Jax threatening to “take it outside.”  About 7 minutes in to the episode, I looked over to the VP and dropped the “I’m gonna be honest here, I’m into this.”

This show works because there is no shortage of HATABLE characters, but there are enough likable and lovable ones to not feel too gross watching an episode.  I’m sorry, but whenever I’ve seen a “Real Housewives” show, I can’t get into it because they all seem A BILLION percent awful.  A BILLION.  Give me degrees!  Vanderpump has hatable, kinda’ hatable, kinda’ likable, likable and ONE lovable character for everyone.  Let’s go through the categories.

HATABLE:  Kristen and Scheana.  Case closed.  Both of these characters have ZERO redeeming qualities.  Kristen’s worst offense?  Thinking that she’s really funny because she took like ONE improv class.  Not much is worse than a not-funny person inviting you to their improv show, and Kristen didn’t just do that…SHE FOLLOWED UP HER IMPROV SHOW WITH A STAND-UP SET!!!  Cringeworthy on level 5 trillion.  Aside from making her friends fake-laugh at her lame observations, Kristen is always plotting something kinda’ mean.  You know she pitches “storylines” to the producers ALL THE TIME off camera.  The only reason she’s still on the show is because she’s good for one solid drink-toss a season.  The VP and I say “Oh, fuck off Kristen” at least 6 times an episode.

I would say “don’t even get me started on Scheana!” but I’M FINNA GET STARTED Y’ALL!!!   (I literally just pushed myself away from my laptop and took a deep breath.  If there was a camera in my apartment, now is when I’d look directly into it and say something like “watch this.”)  Again we have a case of an absolute no-talent FORCING “friends” to watch them perform.  Remember when Scheana was trying to be a singer?  She forced her then-boyfriend, Shay, to produce her album and every time you heard her sing or watched her dance she, somehow, became less attractive in your eyes.

That’s been the story of Scheana.  If you didn’t know her at all and saw a picture, you’d be like “yeah, she’s hot.”  But every episode you watch of her, she becomes less and less and less attractive.  By last night’s episode, I legit thought to myself “Scheana is hideous.”  Let’s run through her track record: she forced her producer boyfriend to record her AWFUL “album” that was so bad it drove him to a pill addiction.  Then!  When he admitted his addiction to her, she was like “yeah, but you can still come out and party with us, just don’t do shots!”  Hey idiot, he’s addicted to pills!  So she drives that relationship to divorce even though she kept telling everyone “we’re doing so great!”  (So she lied to us, which hurts.)  Then, she IMMEDIATELY goes into some pseudo-relationship with a condescending DOOF named “Rob” (nice name loser).  Rob openly admits to everyone that he doesn’t really like her, but whenever someone mentions this to Scheana  “they’re just making up rumors!”  If they don’t have a scene in this year’s reunion episode where they show Scheana, Rob talking about how he didn’t love her, spliced in between all the times she talked about how much in love they are, I’m GONNA LOSE IT!  If I have to hear one more time about how Rob hung a TV in 7 minutes, I’m gonna go to Los Angeles with a flat screen and time him myself CUZ THERE’S NO FUGGIN’ WAY HE DID THAT! (I’ve never hung a flat screen cuz I’m scared I’ll tear the wall down and break my TV and…is Rob better than me?  Hey Rob, you think you’re better than me?!?!)

KINDA HATABLE:  Ariana, Lala and Lisa (girls are gonna HATE that I included Lisa in this category).  Ariana is like Kristen-lite in that she also thinks she’s a legit comedian, even though she has never made anyone genuinely laugh in the history of her life.  She also seems to string Sandoval along in this “I never wanna get married cuz my parents got divorced”-bullshit.  Sometimes you mess up cooking dinner.  Does that mean you never try cooking again?  Sometimes marriages don’t work.  I’ll say this, if you’re over the age of 30 and still publicly lamenting your parents divorce, maybe keep it to yourself?  You’re an adult now, they tried their best…or not, whatever.  Get over it.

Lala infuriates me and The VP loves her which kinda infuriates me more.  How can you be Mrs. Female Empowerment when you’re a part-time hostess who leeches off a boyfriend you never name on the show who is, most likely, married?  Women who refer to their spouse ONLY as “My Man” need to be put under a microscope cuz something is off on a DEEP level.  Oh, and the bottle thing before she goes to sleep?  GET DA FUCK OUTTA HERE WITH THAT SHIT!  If The VP of Ops got into bed one night sucking on a bottle, I’d drive to my parents house and probably fall asleep in my mother’s arms after sobbing about how “I just didn’t know she was like that.”

And Lisa…I can feel all the women readers getting pissed right now…She’s condescending, ladies.  Maybe it’s because I grew up in the restaurant biz, but I kinda think she doesn’t have all that much to do with the success of her restaurants (YEAH, I SAID IT!)  She was a child actor turned music video girl turned “restaurant designer”.  That’s not a real job.  “Restaurant designer”?  PUH-LEASE!  Have you ever seen her ACTUALLY working in one of the restaurants?  No!  All she does is go in, walk around pointing out how some minimum-wage worker missed a spot polishing a knife, and ask Jax for a glass of wine then deride him for filling it up too much.  WHAT A BOSS!  So when she CONSTANTLY reminds everyone around her about her “business prowess” it comes off as insecure.  Also, these young adults that she can’t wait to lecture, are the same ones who have MADE the show.  So her disappointment or anger with them is probably bullshit, and her “zings” are rarely ACTUALLY funny.  The only reason she’s not in the hatable category is because she does a lot of good for dogs.

KINDA’ LIKABLE:  Tom Sandoval, Stassi and James Kennedy.  Sandoval cries too much and dresses like a WEIRDO, but he seems like a genuinely good dude (if you didn’t tear up when he took care of Schwartz’s brothers, then you’re a robot!) His hair straightener thing is kinda weird, but he’s just trying really hard and that’s not always awful.

Stassi is tough for me because she was pretty rough to watch in the early seasons.  She was Queen Mean Girl and had to go through a sort of personality-rehab after she got too big for her britches.  Thing is, she’s kinda’ funny sometimes…A few times an episode now, she’ll make The VP laugh REALLY hard and I’ll pretend not to laugh cuz I don’t wanna give The VP the satisfaction, but it was funny.  Also, the fact that Stassi is The VP of Ops’ favorite character, makes me want to needle her a little, so I can’t TOTALLY love her.  Anytime Stassi is on screen, I can feel The VP’s smile pinging off our walls…a thing I have never been able to produce myself (IF YOU LIKE HER SO MUCH, WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCKING MARRY HER?!?!)

James Kennedy has been quite the reclamation project this season.  Getting rid of Kristen was huge, but his biggest accomplishment in my eyes?  Befriending Jax.  I simply was not allowed to like him when he was Jax’s sworn enemy (gotta support your brothers.)  Now that he’s gotten the Jax seal of approval, Kennedy is okay in my book.  He’s good for some belligerent outbursts, but he’s also pretty funny whenever he points out what a total WHACKJOB Kristen is.  Did they hook up on that Mexico episode? Yes, and I can’t wait for that to also come out at the Reunion show.  Also, the story about him being violently bullied when he was a kid  makes the whole “White Kanye”-thing feel endearing.  Like, “aw, he’s fake confident now!”  Also, James Kennedy is the star of the funniest scene in the show’s history…when he RIPPED from a Fireball handle to the point where everyone got legitimately scared and he responded to their genuine concern with a “Whaaaaaa?!?!”  (The Bravo website is being weird about me getting the link to that scene show up in my blog, so here’s the link)

http://www.bravotv.com/video/share/2930050

LIKABLE:  Tom Schwartz.  He may cheat on Katie, but it’s just cuz he’s drunk and not because he’s mean so….basically doesn’t count.  His love of Coors Light is awesome because L.A. is all about vodka sodas; and his fear of actually working a job is funny because he never denies that he’s bad at being an adult.  How can you not like a dude who has basically said “yeah, I’m not responsible and I should be because I’m over 30, but I’m not so let’s just have some fun”?  Also, he’s way better looking AND nicer than Tequila Katie so…like, he should be allowed to cheat every now and then, right?  If I was married to Grace from Peaky Blinders I would strike a deal saying it was okay if she cheated on me every 10 weeks.  Fair is fair, guys.

LOVABLE:  Jax Taylor.  He was the cocky cool guy early on, but he was funny enough to overcome what that means.  He was also pretty open with his flaws.  Yes, he cheats on EVERYONE, but tell me you’re not rooting for him in his next relationship and I will call your parents to tell them that you lie.  Cheating on Stassi wasn’t that bad cuz she was supes mean, and…she totally cheated on him at some point too.  Doing it with her friend, Kristen, wasn’t the coolest move ever, BUT Kristen is an evil plotting witch-person so it’s not really his fault.  (Would you be surprised if Kristen could cast spells? I would not.)  He’s the only guy who would actually fight on this show, and he likes sports and he drinks too much.  Aside from the incessant cheating, he sounds like most of my friends.

This season, he has become a cautionary tale with a storyline bordering on legitimately sad.  Nearing 40 without a stable career or relationship is nightmare-type stuff, and watching Jax face these realities this season has been ROUGH.  If you’re watching that and feeling anything aside from some sort of sympathy or empathy, you also probably still burn ants with a magnifying glass.  The cheating on Brittany thing really stunk for this Jax boy.  It was like watching Tiger Woods come back for the 4th time, thinking he’s past all his bullshit and then grabbing for his back again on the 18th hole at The Masters. It’s a “No! Not again!”-situation, but it’s amazing how you find yourself STILL rooting for him after all the shit he has pulled.  If that’s not charisma, I don’t know what is.

And that’s all the words I have for “Vanderpump Rules” today.  Please welcome Jax and Co. to the Jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame.  (My fingers broke a sweat writing that.)  

MY WORLD:

I’m gonna be completely honest with ya’ guys, I wrote so much for that “Vanderpump” induction, that I’m TOAST.  Today is supposed to be the next edition of a “Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The VP of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable,” and that section deserves more energy than I currently have.  (SOMEBODY GET ME A FUCKING GATORADE!)  But guess what that means? You can look forward to that tomorrow.  Giddy up!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

JAX WILL NOT STAND FOR MEN WHO DISRESPECT WOMEN!  Little thing about me, I LOVE pre-barfight threats.  They’re just delicious!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This was when Lala and James were BOTH hatable…Lala is still there…and will stay there forever if I have anything to say about it!  HEY LALA, GUESS WHAT?!?! I’M NOT FEELIN’ YOU EVER! (BURNNNNNNNNN ALERT!!!!)

 

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Yesterday was victory lap day.  I plan to get back soon, but diving into gambling on baseball is SCARY!

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

Guy Fieri Fandom and Tales of Laziness (4/5/2018)

OUR WORLD:

I want to be friends with Guy Fieri.  He’s Queen meets Limp Bizkit meets the best cheeseburger you had when you were 13.  His bleached blonde spikes and thin goatee WORK, and if you don’t smirk while nodding your head whenever he talks about a dish being “out of bounds”, then maybe you’re the reason you and your father haven’t spoken in years.  I would like to formally welcome you to jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame Introduction for Guy Fieri’s “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives”.

It’s really fun to fall in love with someone who is easily made fun of, but has enough self-confidence to turn the joke around; like putting the sun in front of a mirror.  How can a guy wearing pant-shorts, sunglasses with flames on the sides and gaudy bracelets make an old lady in a Nebraska diner blush?  My favorite grandmother (we all have one, right?) would have been play-dough in Guy’s hand.  I can almost hear her denying that she thought he was cute…when she TOTALLY did.  What hipster can do that?  I’ll wait…(I’m seriously trying to think of a counterpoint, and all I’ve got is Jeff Goldblum? Maybe? Nah.)  No hipster can do that because Guy is the good-times party boy we all secretly want to be friends with.

Not everything is as ironic as we’d like to make it out to be in hindsight.  Sometimes, a greasy cheeseburger at a place with torn booths just tastes fucking good.  Much the way that sometimes a bowling shirt featuring bedazzled skulls is just fucking badass. Ignoring the cool-kid crowd and talking about the unimpressive things we love is what this show is about, and Guy is the embodiment of an unimpressive thing we love.  What’s revolutionary about some dude in a muscle car throwing up the “rock on” sign?  NOTHING! But you like it because how do you hate a guy who just wants to show you a ROCKIN’ good time?

How much do you love trying to decipher Guy’s facial expressions?  Like, he’s never going to come out and said to a chef “Bro, that sandwich sucked!”  But, when he doesn’t shoot the camera one of those “you cannot be serious with how good this is”-stares, you know he kinda’ doesn’t like it that much.  He’s too nice of a dude to spit something out, so he’ll normally kinda nod his head while darting his eyes in a panic of trying to invent something nice to say about the shitty bite in his mouth.  Normally, he’ll bail and go with the all-too-obvious “that’s very interesting” copout.  (In Guy-talk, “that’s very interesting” means that you should shut your dump down because that bite was GARB!)  

On the other hand, when he REALLY likes a bite, he is so expressive that you feel like you’re getting to enjoy it through your TV.   This face, the “you cannot be serious how good this is”-stare, is what makes the show:

guy fieri

Full disclosure, I have absolutely stolen this face in my life.  Whenever I take a bite of something awesome, I make this face now.  Restaurant owners should keep an eye on their customers, and if they’re not seeing any of these faces being made, then maybe it’s time to find a new chef.

How excited do you get when you see him take a bite and drop this face, though?  MOM!  HE REALLY LIKES THIS PLACE THAT WE’VE NEVER BEEN TO AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL GO TO BUT IF WE DO WE’RE PROBABLY GONNA LIKE IT CUZ HE MADE THE FACE! If you run a restaurant that Guy has been to and made this face in, you need to immediately change the name of your place to “Guy Made This Face Here” with that picture next to it.  Tell me you’re driving past that restaurant without stopping and I’ll tell you that you’re a goddamn stupid idiot who makes poor decisions in every aspect of your goddamn stupid idiot life!  DAMNIT!

I bet he does cocaine too and, earmuffs kids, but that makes me think he’s even cooler.  Like, you know those episodes when he’s really vibing with the chef?  They’re fist-bumping, and throwing food puns back and forth, and Guy keeps slapping him on the back and saying how everything is “out of bounds”?  You know that when the film crew takes five, Guy is nudging that chef to look down at his open palm featuring a tiny bag of white.  Guy’s producers know what’s about to happen, but they pretend like they don’t see Guy direct his new best friend to the bathroom.  Cut to 3 minutes later and all EVERYONE in the entire restaurant can hear is Guy and the chef alternating between giggling, snorting and high-fiving.  The best part has to be when they emerge from the bathroom, a little too close to one another, sniffling and asking everyone around them “What?!”

After he parties with the chef in back, comes the part of the show where Guy turns into a journalist and interviews actual customers.  ALL of the customers say pretty much the same thing “it’s just so fresh!” but it’s okay because it allows you to focus on your fantasy about what a Guy Fieri cologne would smell like.  There’s always some foodie trying too hard to sound like an impressed critic, and you can feel Guy having to restrain himself from stuffing him in a locker.  Then there’s the fat dude at the bar that Guy is super excited to watch eat and exchange face-stuffing tips with.  Hey!  He loves all shapes except skinny and that makes me feel great about myself!  Take notice: they never show a super hot customer in these restaurants.  It’s only the Betty-Ann’s and Larry’s of the world.  Guts and bad haircuts.

By the time “Triple D” is over you have no idea what you just watched, but you’re super hungry and contemplating whether you could pull off flame sunglasses (not as a joke!)  “Triple D” is a half-hour of Guy getting to be himself; takin’ big boy bites, throwin’ bones with his bros, not being snarky, and doing cocaine with new friends in rooms without cameras.  There are no bad-guys in Guy’s world, just people he hasn’t met yet.

Loyal readers, please welcome the second show to the jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame: “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives”.

MY WORLD:

I caught myself doing something extraordinarily lazy last night, and it got me thinking about the little lazy “cheat-codes” that I employ on a regular basis.  Here’s what I’ve got:

-Leaving the fork I just used for my dinner on top of the leftovers I put in the fridge.  This is the move I did last night.  It’s an effort to put off washing said fork, but how ridiculous is that move when you have a dishwasher in your place?!?!  I have a dishwasher in my place!  Not only that, but we also have like a gajillion forks between all the silverware we got for wedding gifts (how about just a lifetime supply of plasticware next time?)  But I still persist in trying to save myself the 3.6 seconds it would take for me to open the dishwasher, and put the dirty fork in the silverware compartment.

-Not throwing out socks or underwear with holes in them.  No joke, over 30% of the underwear and socks I own, have a hole in them.  I remember Jerry Seinfeld talking about how men don’t throw out underwear until they completely disintegrate and HE WAS ABSOLUTELY RIGHT!  Why?  Because if I throw them out, then that means I’ll have to DO SOMETHING…as in, I’ll have to go shopping for underwear and socks.  Could you think of anything more boring than that?  I actually did go underwear shopping at Target (the place you can’t not spend $100) a few weeks back.  But I went alone, and just stared at the 97 different brands of underwear hoping that The VP would magically show up to tell me what to buy.  It’s a minor miracle I didn’t just end up buying a hammer and calling it a day.

-Wearing the same pants for months at a time.  I legitimately don’t know how often, if ever, I’m supposed to wash my jeans.  I used to do it like once every two weeks when I’d do laundry, but then a friend told me that you’re not supposed to wash your jeans.  (Ever get so happy over a seemingly-innocuous comment that you get kinda flush?  That was me when I heard this.  I needed a tissue.)  Top 5 adult revelations definitely includes the time my friend told me you’re not supposed to wash your jeans.  That means, I’m not being lazy, I’m just preserving the integrity of my denim.  SCORE!  Right?

-Turning my driver’s side car-door storage compartment into a garbage can that only gets emptied when I open my door on a windy day.  Do I need to explain that?  If you smash wrappers on top of wrappers, you can fit at least 10 thousand in that compartment.

-Leaving junk mail in my mailbox instead of taking it upstairs and throwing it in the garbage.  I repeat this routine until that day I open my mailbox and the letters are so smashed that they’re getting stuck in the neighboring box.  I’ll get annoyed in my head with the mailman, like “hey dude, take a hint, I’m not taking the loan-consolidation letters upstairs.”  Don’t tell me that you’ve never opened your mailbox, looked through a bunch of lame credit card offers and bills you have on autopay, and then just closed your mailbox hoping those would…just go away on their own.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Even the spoof-version of Guy is a dude I wanna be friends with.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This is Jeff “The Sandwich King” Mauro.  Another Food Network star who doesn’t belong on the same planet as Guy Fieri.  This dude makes me angry with how big of a DOOF he is.  Go away forever and never come back.

Mauro

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Well, the Celtics got pounded so I’m going to need to make another fucking deposit.  Here’s the thing: I was feeling really sorry for myself watching that Celtics debacle.  BUT! If I had won that, then I definitely wouldn’t have won any of my Masters bets because the gambling gods would’ve been like “well, you just won.”  Now, since I’ve been a massive LOSER since football season ended, the gambling gods have got to be thinking about rewarding my patience.  Hey, Gambling Gods, time to throw me a frickin’ bone here.  My Masters picks (for now):  Tiger Woods, Justin Rose, Alex Noren, Thomas Pieters, Charl Schwartzel.

(My account currently at $1.02)

K bye.

Bar Rescue and My Warning (4/4/2018)

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday, I bestowed a very prestigious honor upon three reality television shows when I inducted “Vanderpump Rules”, “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” and “Bar Rescue” into the jimmyschair reality tv show Hall of Fame.  With controversy over the initial selections SWIRLING, I would like to explain why I am right and you are wrong and I am the best and you are the worst.  Jk lol guys! It’s called a joke, ever heard of it?!?! Gah!

I would, however, like to give Hall of Fame intros for each of these wonderful shows.  Why? Because they deserve it.  First up, “Bar Rescue”:

Do you remember where you were the first time you saw Taffer swagger his ass into a dirty bar on his way to save his reconnaissance team from eating undercooked chicken?!  It was probably on your couch, on a Sunday morning, wasn’t it?  You were hungover, weren’t you?  You were probably a real grimy piece of shit that morning, weren’t you?  Yeah, you were.  I was.  We all were.  Little did we know that all we needed was a few hours of Taffer berating stupid bar owners.  Running a bar isn’t just a business, it’s a science.  Put down the advil, “Bar Rescue” was on.

A lot of people often ask how this somewhat out-of-shape, uggo faced nobody with thinning hair slicked back like an 80s movie villain was able to resonate with audiences the way he has.  So many people have asked me this, guys.  Like, in my head while I’m writing this, so many people..  I believe it’s because he’s EXACTLY the kind of guy that you think a bar owner would look like.  When you think “owner of a bar in town that’s kinda’ dirty,” you see Jon Taffer’s face.  Boom, authenticity right off the bat but, uh oh!  Then Taffer dribbles behind his back and you’re let in on the FACT that he has transformed HUNDREDS of bars WORLDWIDE!  That’s right, you judged this book by it’s cover, and you were DEAD wrong.  Taffer doesn’t own that “bar in town that’s kinda’ dirty”; he turns money pits into money makers.

Your hangover headache begins to subside because your brain is faced with being wrong about your initial Taffer impressions.  Then, as the show kicks in, you see how much he cares for people…people like you.  Bet you wish that some hardo with bad hair would’ve yelled at the bar owner who over served you last night.  Taffer would have!  Your stomach feeling weird from those nachos you had the night before?  The Taff-man would’ve spotted that!  (Hidden cameras?!?!) YEAH, HE HAS HIDDEN CAMERAS GUYS!  Taff-A-Rama would’ve seen that Chef Boyar-poophands didn’t properly sanitize the serving laddle before scooping that nacho cheese onto the tortilla chips.  How hard is it to wash a laddle!?!?!  But Taffer wouldn’t have just watched this happen to you.  No.  He would’ve stormed out of his 2007 Chevrolet Tahoe XL, parked inconspicuously across the street so as not to garner any unwanted attention, and gotten to those nasty ‘chos before you turned your hand into a mouth shovel.  Taffer is the hero we deserve.

Then, as we descend into the depths of hangover depression alongside the Dorito crumbs that have piled up on our dirty t-shirts, Taffer introduces us to someone who makes WORSE decisions than you: the bar owner.  Normally, they’ll be taking shots with customers, or yelling at employees, or throwing loose papers on their desk.  Jon walks in and immediately fingers them as “the bad guy”.  What does that mean? That means YOU are not the bad guy any longer, you were simply the victim of a poorly run bar.  HE is the bad guy.

They’ll normally be real defensive and shitty when Taffer calmly and politely, but also sternly, introduces himself.  A “whatever”-eye-roll is a go-to move for the shitty bar owners here.  Or, the incredulous “what?!” when Taffer asks WHY THEY HAVE BEEN SERVING ‘CHOS USING A DIRTY FUCKING LADDLE?!?!?! WHY?!  (Let’s call this shitty owner, Vic.  That’s a shitty owner name.)  WHY ARE YOU SERVING NACHO CHEESE USING A RAT-SHIT INFESTED LADDLE, VIC?  Vic will probably shake his head, or give Taffer the “pshh” hand gesture.  Meanwhile, you’re beginning to realize that it was fucking Vic’s fault as to why your stomach is so messed up.  GET HIM JOHN!

Vic will try to walk away because he has a short temper and doesn’t want to be set off, but guess what? Taffer ain’t scared of you, Vic.  Taffer’s a tall man who has big huge muscles underneath that layer of authentic chub (non-trainers that have 6-pack abs simply do not work hard at their jobs.  Fact.)  The Taff-man will continue to search for an answer re:dirty laddle because he is here to root out the problem.  Vic will continue to walk away until…”I don’t know, Jon!”  But, Jon DOES know.  BECAUSE YOU’RE LAZY, VIC!

Are you lazy? Possibly.  As lazy as Vic, though? No way.  Phew, you’re in the clear.  So not only is Taffer a bar scientist, but he has also been trained in the art of cutting-to-the-core-issue.  Vic is lazy, and until Vic comes to terms with that, his bar will FAIL.  Doctors have to run expensive tests before reaching a diagnosis.  Taffer’s test is free, and it’s called “the eye test”.  “I knew, once Vic turned around and looked me in the eye, that the reason the paddle wasn’t clean is because he is a lazy human being”-Taffer.

As enthralling as the initial confrontation and IMMEDIATE diagnosis was, that’s just the beginning.  Now that you’re beginning to come out of your hangover hell (it wasn’t your fault!) you are treated to a behind-the-scenes look at what it takes to run an effective bar.  Taffer, knowing that he isn’t an expert in EVERYTHING (humility), has enlisted the help of his friends; and he’s only friends with people who are experts in their fields.  There’s gonna be the fat chef wearing the newsboy cap and thumb rings.  You like sliders? Well Chef Thumbrings has cooked sliders at hotels in a little town called LAS VEGAS, NEVADA!  And those sliders are….uh…well, judging by the fact that he has a chef’s shirt with his name on it, they must be pretty fuggin’ perfect.  That’s not the only one Taffer brought, though.  You remember that bartender with the menacing smile who shook two metal shakers at the same time?  Yep, she’s here too, and guess what? She’s wearing a vest.  FYI: Only bartenders that have won Bartending awards you didn’t know existed, can wear vests (surprised you didn’t know that).

As Chef Thumbrings and Bartender Vest whip Vic’s secretly-wanting-to-do-good staff into shape, Jon has bigger fish to fry.  Not only is he explaining the science behind the necessary remodeling, but he needs to get to the real issue: Vic’s unwillingness to change his lazy ways.  These scenes are gonna be tough, and there will be yelling.  Will Vic walk out the backdoor at one point and threaten to just shut the bar down? Of course he will because that’s what weak men do.  But Taffer won’t let him quit.  Taffer isn’t there to make Vic feel bad about himself.  Taffer is there because Vic needs to accept responsibility before he is able to truly change…and change is hard, guys.

Vic will come back the day after threatening to shut the bar down, and Taffer will make a joke.  It won’t be that funny, but that’s not the point.  It’ll be kinda’ sweet and Vic, for the first time in his entire life, will crack a smile.  The walls Vic has spent decades building up are beginning to crumble just in time for Vic’s chef to deliver him some delicious, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA-STYLE sliders.

At this point, you’re getting hungry on your couch because those sliders look so elfin’ good and, you’re all like, “Babe, is there a delivery slider place? No? There should be.  Are you sure there’s not?  I know I can look it up on GrubHub, but-”  BUT, you’re so excited for the final remodel reveal, and grand re-opening that you don’t have time for “Slider Delivery Near Me” internet searches.  (DUH!)  

When we come back from the final commercial break, and we see Vic’s face light up at the marquee outside his bar, Taffer has done his job.  He’ll walk Vic and his staff through the outrageous upgrades littered throughout this once-upon-a-time dump of a bar.  New barstools? Check.  New background bar lighting? Check. Clean grill hood? Check.  And, the kicker? Taffer bought Vic a brand new, state of the art, nacho-cheese-laddle-washer.  Taffer will throw his arm around Vic, and Vic will laugh at how stupid he USED to be re:dirty laddles.  If your hangover isn’t eviscerated by this act of self-deprecating laddle humor, then just jump out that window cuz it don’t get no betta’ than this.

Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, I would like to formally induct “Bar Rescue” into the Jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame.  (Get up and clap, assholes.)

MY WORLD:

It snowed last night and if you’re not in a bad mood today because of that, I don’t know what kind of human being you are.  I would simply like to use today’s “My World” section as a warning of sorts.  I will not be my best self today.  Wind + cold + snow in FUGGIN APRIL! = surly Jimmy.  With that in mind, if you find yourself in the unfortunate position of being in my vicinity today, please refrain from the following:

1)  Joking about Chicago’s weather.  It is simply not a laughing matter.

2)  Touching me.  Sometimes, I enjoy a gentle back pat, or shoulder graze, but I’m putting myself in a touch-free-zone today.  This includes handshakes.  I get it, we met; no need to touch palms to signify that.

3)  Asking me if I’m going on vacation anytime soon.  I’m not and that’s really none of your business anyway.

4)  Smiling.  Today is about pursed lips and incredulous shaking of heads.  Feel free to hit me with a sarcastic smile, but I swear to God, if you punch me with a tooth-party, genuinely happy smile, we’re done.  Finished forever.  Capish?

5)  Looking at me…

Okay, this is getting out of hand.  Whenever I fully engage in Surly Jimmy mood, a snowballing situation occurs.  Let’s just keep our distance…mmkay?!?!  I SAID BACK UP!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Cold.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Today is the last day I can build up my balance a lil bit more before The Masters, so you best believe I’m finding some action.  Also! The VP of Ops has a girls trivia night or some shit, so I can actually watch sports at home without feeling guilty!  Oooooo doggy!  Celtics are getting 7.5 points on the road in Toronto.  Both teams coming off road losses last night…so they’re both gonna be mad…that’s a lot of points.  I’m expecting a close game.  Gimme them Boston Bad Boys!  TAKE CELTICS (+7.5) STRAIGHT TO DA BANK!

(My account currently at $21.09)

K bye.

Sunday TV Binge Shows and Why Angry Wives Are So Funny (3-19-18)

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday was a day of rest for The VP of Ops and I.  Perched in our assigned living room spots, me on my chair (it’s a real thing, this chair, and we’ve developed feelings…real feelings) and The VP on our couch.  (While I love my chair, I will say that not being able to lay sideways on days like yesterday is something I never planned for when claiming my spot as the chair.  This was a slight miscalculation on my part, but I have learned from it and plan to revisit the “assigned seat” negotiating table once we buy our next couch.)  

Aside from the occasional “you okay?”-head tilt towards the other, we were busy dealing with our own Post-St. Patty’s-Day-issues.  Self talk (breathe Jimmy.  Wait…that’s not how breathing works!  HOW DOES BREATHING WORK!?!?!) and awkward positions on your assigned living room seat is what Sundays like this are all about.  How many times did you get kinda excited and think “I’m actually not that bad!” only to get up and have your brain start smashing the eject button from inside your skull.  Zero? Yeah, me too.  Cool cool coolio!

Anyways, we’ve all been here and aside from ordering food that’s not going to taste as good as you think it’s going to, binge watching television shows is the only tonic.  For us, yesterday was “Peaky Blinders” all day, and it got me thinking…what are the best “Sleepy Sunday” binge-worthy tv shows?  *This list is not BEST TV shows, it’s shows that have the ability to soothe your hangover.  Maybe you’ve watched them before, but that’s okay, these shows are like your blankie or dirty old stuffed animal rabbit that you got when you were born and still sleep with (hand up).  

Lets call this our “Top Sleepy Ti Ti Shows” (you know, cuz you’re sleepy and tired…SLEEPY TI TI!):

  1.  The Office:  Number one with a bullet.  Do I even have to say it’s the American version?  I remember when news hit that they were making an American version of “The Office” and I was such a snooty film-school dick about it.  “No way it can recreate the subtle moments the way Ricky Gervais did!”  Pssshaw!  This, my friends, is called a “wrong take”.  Steve Carrell as Michael Scott is the best television character of all time (mean this a billion percent) and getting to watch the prime of this character is the chicken noodle soup of television.  You know what it’s going to be, yet, somehow, you still love every second of it.  (What an analogy!!! Hey! Let’s add that as a section!  YOU’RE DOING IT!).  *FOOD ANALOGY = CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP
  2. The O.C.:  I just wrote and then deleted the following…”I’m not even embarrassed about this pick.”  That means I’m embarrassed about this pick.  I blame The VP of Ops and her powerful influence over my brain for this but let me say this fellas: you watched the first couple seasons of this show when it first came out, and you loved it.  DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!  NOT TODAY! NOT ON JIMMYSCHAIR!  This show holds up better than you think it does.  Seth is still funny.  Rachel Bilson is still a babe (see guys? that’s a cool-dude thing to say.  Babes.)  And Ryan still pulls off the white tank look even though, according to all your research, that is not possible.  Remember that super simple sandwich that was your favorite as a kid?  You haven’t had one since you were 11.  This show is like that sandwich.  Try making one, I bet you’ll remember why you loved it.  *FOOD ANALOGY = SALAMI SANDWICH ON WHITE WONDER BREAD
  3. Parks and Rec:  A close cousin to “The Office” for sure, but why should we hold that against this show?  I feel like every time I bring this show up, there’s kind of a “yeah, but it’s not The Office”-cloud over it.  It’s not “The Office”, but it’s almost as funny.  Fat Chris Pratt > Jurassic World Chris Pratt.  Can someone get Chris Pratt out of the gym because he was well on his way to being a comedy megastar.  He’s fine as an action dude, but I like comedies more than action movies so…DO WHAT I SAY!  Andy Dwyer is new-age Chris Farley and Nick Offerman as Ron Swanson makes you want to grow a mustache and be surly to all your co-workers.  This show is a good chip.  It’s not KING CHIP.  It might be the same brand as KING CHIP, but it’s a different flavor.  *FOOD ANALOGY = BUFFALO BLEU KETTLE CHIP’S
  4. Friday Night Lights:  Binging dramas can be difficult.  This show would be higher on just a list of favorite shows of all-time, but it still places as rewatchable because Coach Taylor is my idol.  I don’t even say that as a joke anymore.  When we first watched it, I’d say “I wanna be Coach Taylor” to the VP with like a smirk.  Like, I was sending that thought out as a trial balloon.  But with distance, comes perspective and I think I actually want to become the fictional coach from “Friday Night Lights”.  I would like to coach High School football in Texas.  Did I play? I mean, not really, but…I like football a WHOLE BUNCH!  Guys, A WHOLE BUNCH!  Also, I think I can pull off the gruff, kinda moody, kinda nice, kinda mean, but..oh wait…he’s tough too-type of persona.  Also, not to brag, but I pull off mid-length socks and khaki shorts like I was born in ’em.  This show is truly aspirational much the way a complicated rice dish is.  Much the way I think I could actually become Coach Taylor, you think you won’t fuck up the rice in that complicated, yet delicious looking rice-based dish.  You will fuck up the rice.  *FOOD ANALOGY = COMPLICATED RICE-BASED DISH
  5. Arrested Development:  The new seasons on Netflix don’t count.  Seriously, do not tell me that “they’re actually pretty good”.  I don’t believe you and I don’t care.  The original first 3 seasons of this show are so damn smart and funny that they’re all that matters here.  Cool thing about binging this show is that you can get through those first 3 seasons in a reasonable amount of time.  It’s not going to take your life over.  The most fun debate to have about this show is to ask your friends who their fave character is.  The easy answer is Gob, but guess what? THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT’S WRONG!  Jesus H, I’m so tired of trying to sound smarter than I actually am and picking someone other than Gob for fave character.  “You see, the thing with George Michael that everyone overlooks is-“SHUT UP JIMMY!  It’s Gob.  Convo over.  You’re not that smart.  I’m aware you can make the case for Tobias, but uhhhhhhh NO.  And if you even bring Michael into this arena you will be hanged at the behest of the king (me.  I’m the king here.  King Chair).  This show is so damn funny and I’ve seen it so many times, but I still find little moments that I missed.  It’s like ordering trying a new item or condiment from a fast food restaurant you go to all the time…and being impressed with it.  *FOOD ANALOGY = MCDONALD’S BUFFALO SAUCE (my new KING SAUCE for Chicken Nuggy’s.  Game changer, guys.  Game changer.)

That’s the list.

MY WORLD:

I shaved my facial hair into a mustache this weekend because getting under The VP of Ops’ skin is really fun for me.  That was the reason.  I don’t think it looks good.  In fact, I know it does not look good, and I’m not secure enough to try to convince people that I don’t care about that (although, I DEFINITELY did that this weekend.  I got a few “it actually doesn’t look that bad”s from friends and I lied when I responded “dude, I don’t even care.  I just think it’s funny.”  I cared.  I care.)  

stache*not gonna lie, shades and stache are a solid combo

I did this a few weeks back when The VP of Ops was out of town for the weekend and my brother thought it was funny.  That was fun.  When the VP got back in town, she recoiled at the sight of me and my stache.  I ended up shaving it before going into work that Monday because I was nervous about having to act like debuting a mustache wasn’t a big deal to me.  (Oh this thing? God, I totally forgot I even had it.  I don’t know..just felt like it.  How do I think it looks?  I don’t even care.)  I’m so not that guy.  (DAMNIT!  CAN I PLEASE BE THAT GUY SOMEDAY? GOD? PLEASE!  I WANNA BE THE “WHATEVER” GUY!  THEY’RE SO COOL!  NOTHING BOTHERS THEM!  THEY JUST SAY “WHATEVER” AND SMOKE ANOTHER CIGARETTE!)  I am, unfortunately for The VP of Ops, the “This Pisses My Wife Off, So It’s Hilarious”-guy.

It’s why I tie light jackets around my waist in the fall and early spring.  Is it comfortable and convenient? Yes, of course.  But, it also causes The VP to give me the side-eye and whisper something to me like “really? You’re really doing that in public next to me?”  Uh….yeah babe!  I’m doing this to you in public.  (I like to laugh!  So sue me!) It’s why I wear sunglasses that are like a 4 on the looks scale.  Do I want to buy cool-guy shades from a designer that my hipster brother told me about? Yes.  But then The VP wouldn’t be moderately embarrassed to introduce me-wearing my gas station hotboi shades-to a friend of hers I’d yet to meet.  WHERE’S THE FUN IN THAT?!?!

Now, because I am having so much fun thinking of all the times I have done something with the primary goal being to make The VP of Ops uncomfortable/mad/embarassed at me..I will be debuting a new section to my Monday blogs from here on out.  The section will be called “The Time I Made Myself Laugh By Making The Vp of Ops Mad or Uncomfortable”.  Look forward to a full-on story next Monday and many Monday’s from here on out.  In the meantime, I look forward to brainstorming new ways to accomplish this…cuz there are like a lot of Monday’s in the future of the world AND I GOTTA GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to run through a brick wall right about now.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I just hate this fucking song.  Remember when it was super popular?  What the fuck was that all about?

 

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE: 

I’m not going to lie to you guys, this NCAA tournament has been an unmitigated disaster for my gambling account and…life.  Like, the amount of new deposits I’ve made into this account are nearing the “is this actually impacting my life”-zone.  It’s scary and kind of invigorating all at the same time.  I am saving my remaining balance, however, for this Thursday’s games when the tourney returns.  That’s the plan at least…stay tuned.

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

“The Bachelor” Recap and Excuses to Avoid The Gym

OUR WORLD:

I want to be more original than the rest of the internet today and write about something other than “The Bachelor”, but sadly, I am but a sheep unable to stray from my shepherd, Chris Harrison.  Last night became an exercise in distracting myself from how YUCKO I felt watching grown women get dumped on national television with cheap jokes in text message chains.  The VP of Ops told me she felt bad watching at one point early on in the show, and I snapped back that I didn’t feel bad because, as you all have hopefully learned by now, I am one tough hombre with big muscles who eats protein and NEVER APOLOGIZES!!! ARGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Like 20 minutes later, I hit the VP with a dose of original sensitivity and said that I felt bad watching this (the VP immediately reminded me that she had JUST said that and that I had shot her down.  Well guess what ladypants?!?!? My feelings matter more than yours because mine are more unexpected since I’m such a big, tough, masculine protein powerhouse who only cries when 7-11 is out of chocolate Muscle Milk Pro Series 50).  As painfully dull as Lauren B. is, she did seem to genuinely trick herself into falling in love with this professional DOOF.  So when she walked like 18 miles down that hill, dodging Alpacas in heels along the way, only to get dunked on by Arie, guilt…creeped in.  I wish I could have maniacally laughed in her face, but unless they’re true villain material (Krystal!) then I do feel bad watching a girl cry.

Okay, so we’ve established that I’m not a monster, right? Cool cool.  Dude, Arie is a SAVAGE!  My favorite part of this epic, “If I say I have to follow my heart, I’m a good guy, right?”-meltdown, aside from Chris Harrison’s sad face taking us to commercial breaks, was that Arie never came close to crying when he broke up with Becca.  If this were me, first off, I’d probably cry because I actually am a sensitive baby (just kidding Dad, this is how I reel in all the hot babes), or if I had some sort of ocular issue blocking my tears, I would at least fake it!  During the whole Becca break up scene (still going btw…Arie ain’t goin’ nowhere!) I kept thinking “Dude! At least give her a sniffle, a wipe of the eye, a bite of a quivering lip!  Something! Anything! YOU LOOK LIKE A SOCIOPATH!!!

Now even though I don’t know exactly what a sociopath is (no, I will not look it up on Dictionary.com) Arie is def a sociopath.  It means like “attention-whore” right? Whatever, going with it, feels right.  Can you imagine breaking up with someone and then refusing to leave when they ask you to?!  I’ve broken up with someone once (time to look at the empty sky and wonder “what if…”) and I literally would’ve paid her over 40 dollars for her to tell me to leave as quickly as Becca told Arie.  “I broke up with you and you don’t want to talk about it and make me feel like an even bigger asshole than I already feel like? HELL TO THE FUCK YEAH!!!! k thx byeeeee”-Me.  Meanwhile, Arie “Can we just talk” Lyin’Dick (that last name joke has probably been made already but I’m proud of it) awkwardly continued to stay after she asked him to leave like 90 gabillion times because….ohhhhhh, cuz he likes camera time.  Yep.

That’s why he didn’t cry.  I’m convinced that the only time we’ll see Arie actually cry is if he puts a GoPro on his dumb face for the moment when Chris Harrison thanks us for watching this season of “The Bachelor”.  He is so obsessed with camera-time that he maneuvered a way to get an extra episode of the show.  I almost respect how conniving he is.  You know what kind of planning had to go into this?  I imagine after the show ended, Becca would go to bed alone, probably thankful that Arie and his weird hands weren’t groping her face, and Arie would retreat to his fort in the basement with ALL of his crayons and toy race cars (They’re not toys! They’re models damnit!) so he could draw out all the ways in which he could stay on TV longer to prove to his father that he’s not a massive failure let-down (How many times do you think Arie has scream-cried “I don’t want your life!” to his race-car-legend father?)  

When Arie decided that the only reason people care about Bachelor guys after their season is if they’re massive villains, that was his only route to staying relevant.  (I’m legitimately gaining respect for this move the more and more I write it.  Is Arie a genius?)  Yes, he will be booed in the head of most women he encounters for the rest of his life, BUT, 1) there will also be the women who, just to be contrarian, will claim that they like how he “followed his heart” and 2) he will be the male version of Omarosa on reality TV for YEARS: whenever a reality show casting director needs a male villain, Arie will be the first name to pop into their head.

Meanwhile, Becca will be fine guys.  Can you spare me this whole “she’s so brave!”-chant?  Why is she brave? Because she got dooped by rich kid who can’t commit to a job, much less a woman for the rest of his life?  Puhhhhhh-lease.  Now she gets as many supportive Chris Harrison shoulder pats as she could ever want, and will probably be the next “Bachelorette”.  Hey Becca, can you say hot guy parade?!?!  Arie let her off the hook!  What would have been worse is if she had to pretend not to be creeped out by Arie’s face-grabbing-tendencies for another 3 months until she snapped and decided that being lost at sea would be a preferable existence so she rented a boat and…just…left.

What we need is for Arie to be “The Bachelor” AGAIN.  I’m not kidding.  ABC should keep quiet who the next one is, only to start next season with a quick update on where Arie and Lauren are at.  They’ll go to shoot at the home they just bought (with a sandbox in back cuz Lauren loves sandcastles!) and right as the update is about to end, Arie dabs right in Lauren’s face and sprints into a waiting helicopter.  “Luyendyk out!”  He puts on “The Bachelor” tux while in the helicopter and is dropped off right back where we started…the front door of the house as all the new girls pull up in their limos.  I can already hear the new girls trying to convince their Dads that “he’s changed.”

MY WORLD:

I didn’t go to the gym yesterday because my stomach was weird and, I gotta tell ya’, there may be no feeling better than coming up with a great excuse not to go to the gym.  The earlier you can discover it, the better, so you can enjoy a not-so-healthy lunch only to be followed by a, GUESS!  That’s right, A-NOT-SO-HEALTHY dinner!!! “Listen, I would be working out if my stomach wasn’t so weird, but I can’t so I might as well follow Potbelly with Lou Malnati’s with some peanut M&Ms as a snack in between cuz I needed a happy boost on this gray gray day!”-Me to me all day yesterday.

Now, because I’m here not just for me, but for US, I wanted to provide some excuses to get out of going to the gym that don’t make you feel as Arie should have felt but doesn’t cuz, remember, he is now “Arie-rosa” (Arie/Omarosa mash-up.  Try to keep up, this blog’s jokes wait for no one.) 

1)  “I worked out over 4 times last week, so my body needs to recover and if I take time off, the shock of the return will actually burn more calories than if I had gone everyday.”  This is a real gem (god, I love complimenting myself on my blog.  ME!)  If you’re fatter, you burn more cals so…getting a lil chub chub actually makes your next workout that much more impactful.  Listen guys, who burns more calories when walking up a flight of stairs, Michael Phelps or your fat Uncle Terry?

2)  “My spouse has to work late so I have to pretend to be mad that I can no longer go to the gym because I have to be the one to take our dog out.”  Classic Jimmy-move here.  The VP of Ops will call me later in the day, right before I’m about to head to that purple, judgement-free hell-hole of a gym (Planet Fitness? More like Planet ItsaMess…k, not my best).  She’ll tell me that she’s not going to be able to get home until later so I need to let our Princess Belle out before she makes a tee tee poo poo on the priceless rug I kinda’ stole from my parents garage.  I’ll probably exhale on the phone and go quiet cuz I’m a graduate of The University of Pout, but really, I’m kinda excited that I get to put off sweating next to a stranger who thinks wearing cologne in Planet Fitness is a good way to make friends.

3)  “Weather.”  Raining? Roads are slippery.  Snowing? Roads are slippery.  Fog? Can’t see the roads (which are probably slippery).  Wind? Car might blow over.  Sun? Sun burns guys and I don’t wear sun block because I’m not a high schooler with no friends (been there, done that). Cold? Car might freeze OR my leg muscles won’t be able to fire properly and I can’t afford to risk injury when I need my body to go to work and earn an income to pay for The VP of Ops’ insatiable appetite for rare jewels and craft mayonnaise.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

People who wear cologne or perfume to the gym.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

There’s good news and bad news.  The bad news?  Yesterday’s Milwaukee pick lost by 3 when the line was (+2.5).  The good news?  I didn’t realize the game was at 6 Eastern Time SO I COULDN’T MAKE THE BET IN TIME!  THAT’S BASICALLY A WIN GUYS!  MY FORTUNE’S HAVE OFFICIALLY TURNED!  Seriously, if that’s not a sign that I’m back, I don’t know what is.

Tonight’s moneymaker is Denver (-5) over those stanky Mavericks.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

Mondays and Oscar Recap

MY WORLD:

I think companies should have “Monday rooms” in their offices.  They should with big bean bag chairs and mirrors so you could go in, dramatically drop to your knees, curl up and watch yourself gently cry as old Carole King songs played softly over the speakers.  Mondays really are for the birds and, guys, I am no bird.  I’m a man!  A HUMAN MAN! (If my brothers are who I think they are, they better text me a socially unacceptable joke about me being a man.  Clock’s ticking, fellas.  Also, if they don’t text me, I will convince myself that they don’t read my blog, hold it against them and probably tell my mom that it bums me out that they can’t find the time in their day to support a brother-me-WHO HAS BEEN NOTHING IF NOT SUPPORTIVE OF THEM SINCE THEY WERE BUT A TWINKLE IN MY PARENT’S EYES!!!)

At least I’m not starting a new job today, though.  Aside from a Hangover-Monday, Starting-A-New-Job-Monday is mos def the worst version of this wretched wretched day.  I don’t have an absolute nightmare story of a Starting-A-New-Job-Monday (thought about making one up but I respect the 18 readers of this more than that) but I’m going to do my best to remember as much as I can about the first Mon-Fri job that I had.  I’m hoping that remembering this day will put today’s Monday in perspective so that I won’t be a pouty baby at my desk and say things like “I said I’m fine!” later.

I was 28 years old when I started my first 9-5, Monday through Friday job.  (See?  You’re better than me!) Now, chill out.  I’d had jobs since I was like 13, but they were all restaurant jobs that didn’t make a day of the week feel like a 9-5 Monday.  Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of I-hate-my-life moments when working in restaurants, but there isn’t a whole day where the entire staff returns after getting 3,2,1 BLASTOFF DRUNK for the past 60 hours.

So I was 28 years old.  Restaurant jobs, grad school (cue the crippling debt tremors) and a general fear of well dressed people in tall buildings kept me away from the 9-5 path up until then.  I had been dating the VP of Ops (known then simply as “Hot Fire Sexy Baby”)  for about 4 months and was beginning to feel…feelings…oh boy oh boy oh boy!  (Hey Erin,  that was cute, right? Pay rent today. K, Thx)   The sting of having dissimilar hours as HFSB along with the paralyzing insecurities associated with being a grown man whose work uniform consisted of a t-shirt reading “Fresh Pasta & Seafood” had pushed me TOO FAR!  It was mostly the insecurities.

I thought I should work in advertising because I live in Chicago, had a lot of good friends who worked in advertising, and I had seen commercials before.  That, my friends, is what you call a Natural Fit!  My good girl friend, nicknamed “Trone”, had become kind of a big-wig at one of these agencies, and posted something on Facebook about how her agency was looking for people for some entry-level position.  In my basically empty head, working at an ad agency probably consisted of me getting to write commercials for major companies who were too busy doing those secret hand-signal things on Wall Street.  Business stuff.  So I e-mailed Trone and probably made her cry with my well-worded, deeply personal plea for help.

She set me up with an interview, and I went shopping.  I had to buy cool, business pants because the loose, pleated khaki look that I had been NAILING on Easter Sundays for years just felt a bit pedantic (callback joke.  Comedy term.  Comedy mind.)  So I went to The Gap.  I think that’s supposed to be embarrassing, but once a Gap kid, always a Gap kid.  So shut up.  I nailed that fucking interview in those cool pants and proved, once and for all, that lying about being excited to work for a company you’d never heard of before getting an interview with them, WORKS!

I was hired to be a “Search Analyst” for an advertising company that I’ll call “Buttlicker Digital”.  (Good luck getting that burn to heal properly!)  I started in 3 weeks…on a Monday.  Would have been cool if I started on a Friday at 3:45PM, but GAH FUHBID A COMPANY DOES SOMETHING THAT CREATIVE!

The 3 weeks leading up to this career change were V scary for me.  I quit my restaurant job in a professional way because I was about to be professional and that’s what professionals do.  I went to the J.Crew outlet mall with my parents so my mom could help me pick out cool clothes like any mother would with their 6 year old.  I paid for these clothes by opening a J.Crew credit card because that I figured I’d have to be in J.Crew a lot going forward to keep up on hot trends.  (Instead, I paid off that initial $350 spend like 3 years later after making minimum payments until I got a bonus big enough to cover the remaining like $307.  I make money, guys).  Clothes bought, restaurant job quit, hair cut.  All that was left was this fuggin’ Starting-A-New-Job-Monday.

I drank more than I had planned in the weekend leading up to this SANJM because I was supes nervy and drinking’s fun!  Thankfully, my constant state of worry, kept me up most of the night, so getting up was not an issue.  I was thinner than I am now (we’re all doing our best here) so I looked pretty sah-weeeet in my new clothes.  Before I left, The VP wished me luck and was encouraging and comforting and…DEAR GOD, JUST GO FOR ME ERIN!!! YOU DO IT!!!

I took an Uber because I was paranoid if I took the train I would immediately black out and somehow end up at a Cracker Barrel in Southern Arkansas.  (I’m also the guy who has to get to the airport like 9 hours early just to be sure we have enough time to get through security.  This is not the VP of Ops’ favorite quality of mine.)  I got to Buttlicker Digital plenty early and took the elevator up to my floor.  Real talk, I went to the building the day before and mapped out where I was going to go so I wasn’t having a panic attack searching for an elevator on THE Monday.

I was starting with like 8 other people that day, so we gathered in the lobby together and said stuff like “I’m excited” and “I hear good things about this place”.  We met our new boss, an absolute self-centered douche who enjoyed flirting with me and wearing suit jackets that were 2 sizes too small.  But, I didn’t know that yet as he led us to our “pod”.

I was put in basically a large cubicle with 3 other nubes.  I had my own desk, nameplate, laptop and…wait for it…CHAIR!  I was given a schedule of “webinars” to take for the next 3 hours, until we would meet for lunch.  I remember ABSOLUTELY ZERO of the skills these webinars were supposed to have taught me.  I put my headphones in, went to the websites and thought about whether there was a military job looking for a scared 28 year old who DID NOT want to see combat, but did want to tell people, years later, that he was a “military man”.  Webinars are cool though.

After kinda doing what I was supposed to for 2 hours and 38 minutes (subtracting 22 minutes for at least 4 trips to the bathroom where I’d sit in a stall, take deep breaths, go through Twitter, and text the VP so she could remind me how brave I am.  I’m so brave.) AND THEN IT WAS LUNCH TIME.  Douchey flirty boss was taking us to PF Changs because midday diarrhea is even more fun when it’s the first day at a new job!  Bossman ordered like 19 apps for the table to show us that he was important enough at the company to waste their money.  V chill move.  I ate practically nothing.  I think I had a lettuce wrap with some chicken because brave boys like myself do need protein for their brave boy big muscles.

After we finished, Bossman let out a lot of deep sighs and eye-rolls as he typed on his phone.  This, kiddos, is a passive aggressive way for insecure people to remind you that they work hard and are constantly insulted because they are smarter than everyone who has ever sent them an e-mail.  I don’t like people like this (even though I’m sure I’ve pulled a move like this to impress people younger than me but…ME! ME, DAMNIT! ME!)

The day continued with my 36 other bosses calling us in to big empty conference rooms for meetings that didn’t really have to happen.  They’d talk about goals and synergy and Excel and, surprisingly, not why the Bears couldn’t find a franchise quarterback in the 30 years since their only Super Bowl.  I went to the bathroom so many times that I’m sure my co-workers thought I had IBS or a coke problem (IBS.  Come on, Jimmy, you’re not cool enough to pull off the “coke problem?”-look).  

5 O’Clock came and we all had to play the game where everyone knows it’s 5, but doesn’t want to be the first to leave so you pretend to type e-mails while praying to the Lord Our Savior that you hear someone drop a “see you guys tomorrow!”  Months later, I had learned to leave my jacket and bag in an empty conference room so that I could walk away from my desk at 5 (ON THE DOT!) and my co-workers wouldn’t know I was leaving for the day.  By the time I got to leave on the first day, I knew I was going to get many promotions during my sure-to-be-long-and-impactful stay at Buttlicker Digital.  Jk lol guys, I hung on by my fingernails and ended up quitting in a very cowardly way.

Really, in hindsight, it was a completely normal, not-that-bad day.  (Whoops).  BUT!  It was a worse Monday than I am going to experience today, and I ate a bunch of bread and pimento cheese yesterday so there. will. be. stomach. issues.  Which reminds me that a close third to Starting-A-New-Job and Hangover-Monday’s is the, all too familiar, I-Ate-Like-Absolute-Shit-All-Weekend-Monday.  Tell the people my story.

 

OUR WORLD:

The VP of Ops and I were driving back from Nashville all day yesterday, so we only got to see the final hour of the Oscars.  “The Shape of Water” winning for Best Picture is something I want to get angrier about, but we’re in the honesty business on this blog and, honestly, I’m not mad, just disappointed.

If you haven’t seen it yet, don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin it for you.  “The Shape of Water” had Michael Shannon and his big chin doing big chin things and a secretly V sexual mute woman who develops feelings for a fish that, no lie, was a pretty hot fish.  I’m guessing hot fish guy goes to an underwater gym for at least an hour 6 days a week.  You’re not just born with pecs like that.

This movie wasn’t one where I was excited to text my dad abut after, or one that I brag about seeing to people who doesn’t see movies as often as I do.  That’s the “Best Picture” test.  Are you excited to text your dad about it?  Are you telling your co-workers that they’re basically uncultured neanderthals for not having seen it yet?  (The only reason I’ll ever go to a museum is just to then have the ability to tell people that I went to a museum.  That’s a fun thing to say, but you have to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal.  Like, “yeah, I went to The Art Institute because it was a Saturday and that’s a thing we do on Saturdays.”)  

In the final hour of the show, the Frances McDormand speech is what stands out to me cuz she had a hairdo that I had never seen before and said a thing I had never heard before “inclusion rider”.  I’ve come to learn (shoutout google.com) that an “inclusion rider” basically says moviemakers can’t be racist/sexist dickheads when staffing their movies.  This sounds reasonable.  Her hairdo, along with Christopher Walken’s high-waisted pants were off-putting though, right?  I can say that, right?  (Why are my female co-workers glaring at me?  Is that a knife?  Seriously Keli, why do you have a knife?)

Real talk, my favorite part of the final hour was that you could feel how uncomfortable white, American males in the audience were.  That’s fair.  The rest of the audience has had to have that feeling on movie sets, in conference rooms, at award shows, and everywhere else for the past very long time because those white dudes and their dads were too busy being cocky to realize that the rest of the room felt lesser than.  Fuck having to feel like that.  I’m a white dude, but I’m poor so I don’t get lumped in with the bad ones, right? (Being not-rich but not-actually-poor is the best!)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Omarosa

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

I made a $50 deposit on Saturday night while secretly vaping in a bathroom stall.  I then IMMEDIATELY bet on 3 NBA games that included a parlay.  I won 2 of the 3 games and lost the other and the parlay.  Overall, that means I lost $5.72, but it’s basically even which is basically a win so….I AM SO FUCKING BACK IT HURTS.  GET ON MY BACK PRETTY BABIES CUZ WE ‘BOUT TO GET DAT PAPER!!!!!

Tonight’s sure fire lock of the century is Milwaukee (+2.5) over Indiana.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

Oscars Predictions and an Ideal Friday (3/2/2018)

MY WORLD:

Happy Friday y’all!  (I can say y’all cuz the VP of Ops is from the South and I’m  married to her so I get to do what she gets to do because marriage is fair and that’s fair and shut up).  The excitement I feel when I wake up Friday morning is the closest I now get to the excitement of childhood Christmas morning.  Instead of running down the stairs to see presents, I’m running down the clock to get to drink many many alcohols.  As a functional (FUNCTIONAL!) alcoholic, weekends are when I get to introduce the public to JIMMY GOOD TIMES aka JGT.  I rid myself of the crippling fear of hangovers-which has ruined weeknight drinking for me forever-and am an overall much nicer, funnier, relaxed, better looking person (the better looking part of JGT abruptly ends when I wake up Sunday morning and morph into JIMMY SWEATPANTS; an overwhelmed, disheveled manager of hangovers and Sunday scaries who ONLY wears the pair of black Jordan Brand sweatpants that he bought in high school using his parents money.)

Every Friday seems to get away from me before it even starts, though.  Like, I’ll get so excited that I’ll have a beer or two at lunch (BREAKING NEWS: Jimmy Good Times is at the gas station filling up that tank!)  After an afternoon of e-mails, Steve Winwood tunes and some V suave, yet subtle seated dance moves, I basically run out to my car, forget any plans that I had for the night and lose myself in a “whatever, as long as I have a beer”-mindset.  Think of how your dog acts when you ask if he wants a treat, then multiply that by FIFTY HUNDRED MILLION THOUSAND!

In an effort to plan ahead like uhhhhhh an adult, I would like to set forth my ideal Friday.  Now look guys, while this is ideal, I also want it to be at least potentially realistic, so it won’t include deep-tissue massages from the girl in “Peaky Blinders” or Eddie Vedder introducing me to Wrigleyville bartenders as his “inspiration”.  Let’s get real, here’s my IDEAL Friday.

EARLY MORNING:  I get up at 6:30 feeling like a crisp bill of fucking money.  The VP of Ops takes Belle out for her morning walk (already beginning to feel unrealistic…)  I put on my cool-guy gym outfit, go to my Planet Fitness (can’t hear your snide remarks in this purple judgment-free zone).  Bang out a killer sweat sesh to alleviate any guilt that may try to slow down JGT later in the night.  Take a shower, and go to work with hair day that deserves its own series on AMC.

MID MORNING:  Get to work and am greeted with coworkers feeling awkward around me because they were just talking about how much they enjoy my social media presence (don’t feel awkward guys, I’m a regular human being person just like you).  The song on the office stereo changes to “Valerie” by Steve Winwood.  I barely notice how great of a job I’m doing at my desk because I’m lost in chair dancing.  People pretend not to notice, but they can’t help but secretly envy my effortless rhythm in the seated position.

LUNCH:  We go to Big Star for margs and tacos and sit outside cuz it’s a sunny 76 degrees and my skin tans to the perfect shade of “did you go on vacation?”  I’ll eat 3 tacos cuz 4 makes my stum hurt and I don’t want to get too full to enjoy their supes refreshing margy’s.  Oh, and they better salt the ever-loving shit outta’ that glass, cuz JGT is a Salt Boi 4 Lyfe!  Tablemates ask why I haven’t eaten many chips, I lie to them and say “I didn’t even notice them on the table” when it’s really because I have tremendous self-control and am planning to overdose on chips tomorrow.  2 margs, 3 tacos and a solid base tan later and I’m ready to polish off the last 4 hours of this workweek (UPDATE:  Jimmy Good Times has crossed state lines into Illinois! “I’m comin’ home, I’m comin’ home, tell the world cuz I’m comin’ home”-JGT)

AFTERNOON:  Well worded e-mails come pouring out of my fingers with Queens of the Stone Age’s “Rated R” album playing in the background.  The office is beginning to empty, but I’ll wait because I’m a hard worker…and I brought a mid-afternoon beer back to my desk to sip on.  What beer you ask? Let’s go with a hoppy MONSTER that you’ve never heard of but has V cool artwork on the can (I will pour it in a glass though cuz I like to show off how I’m not chugging yet).   I finish that first beer right as 4:20 strikes and I make a funny, but like cool-funny weed joke to a co-worker who wears marijuana leaf socks.  After he recovers from his laughing fit, we decide that since we’re in the last 20% of people left in the office, it’s time to leave and get a beer downstairs (I work at a V hot and sexy brewery and my office is above the taproom. BRAGGY BOY!) 

DUSK:  Polish off a beer in the taproom and go outside just as the VP of Ops pulls up to drive us back (responsible).  VPOps parallel parks perfectly and takes Belle out for her dinner-time walk, while I crack an easy drinker and place my bets for the night.  I feel great about all the teams I picked, and my Bovada account shows that I’ve been hot for a while now.  The VP returns, Belle leaps into my arms and we twirl like we’re the last two beings on ear—(I just love her so much).  Time to meet only our most fun friendos at my fave bar, Sheffields, and Belle understands.  As we leave she sits, nods and smiles at us as if to say “you two deserve this.”  Thanks Belle.

NIGHT:  Sheffields is playing a mix of 90s alternative (JGT’S WHEELHOUSE!) along with the occasional pop BANGER that drunk 32 year-olds aren’t embarrassed to sing along to (anything by Sia or Rihanna and I. Am. In!)  We’re drinking beers and laughing.  My teams are up by enough that I just glance at the TV when I feel like smiling extra big.  My friends talk about how good I am at gambling.  VP of Ops is paying for everything because she is “so lucky”.  The bartender points to the ring on my finger so all the other girls around know I’m taken (I didn’t even notice those girls).  My main cool-guy bros and I hide from our spouses so we can take lemon drop shots without being judged.  JIMMY GOOD TIMES BARREL ROLLS THROUGH THE WALL!!! WHAT AN ENTRANCE!!!

It’s simple, really, but I’m a simple man with simple pleasures and a simple brain (wait…)  The rest of the night would mos def include late night food at Fatso’s (real place with the best late-night burger in the game) and that final at-home drink that I don’t need, but still enjoyed.  For the sake of certain readers, I will leave the rest of my ideal Friday up to your imagination…but…let’s…just…say….R. KELLY IS A BLASTIN’!

OUR WORLD:

Okay, real talk, I want to make Oscars predictions but aside from like five categories, they’re pretty boring and I haven’t seen all the movies yet.  Here’s what I got:

-“3 Billboards” for Best Picture because fuck this newfound backlash, this movie is bright, shiny gold.

-Frances McDormand for Best Actress is such a slam dunk that if I were her, I’d wear an “I Won” t-shirt on the red carpet.

-Gary Oldman for Best Actor because everyone says that’s going to happen and I won’t ever watch that movie cuz it looks boring and I ain’t into dat’ shiz.

-Sam Rockwell for Best Supporting Actor because he played a character that you can’t decide whether you hate or not and when you admit that to people you get nervous because you don’t know how they’re going to react to that.

-Chris Nolan for Best Director over Guillermo Del Toro because “Dunkirk” was an absolute two hour long heart-attack and “Shape of Water” made the VP of Ops and I feel weird about lonely people and their alone time.

-Jimmy Kimmel straddles lines like an expert line straddle and nails his job.  Crushes the NRA; reminds everyone that Woody Allen is King of Creep Castle and the #MeToo crew should tell their snipers “shoot to kill; pats Donny T. on his bald head, but stops before Alec Baldwin carries him off on his shoulders; and makes everyone feel moderately uncomfortable when he reminds the audience that “Moonlight” won best picture last year even though more than half of the crowd will never see it.

-Jennifer Lawrence looks great, but gets even closer to the “okay, you’re not that funny so just chill”-line.  I fully expect to look at the VP of Ops at some point to and say “do we not really like her anymore?”

-Quentin Tarantino shows up and I defend him because I love his movies, but deep down definitely think he does weird stuff.  DAMNIT!

-VP of Ops and I agree that JoolyAnna RanSICK was born in the “Men In Black” world and, thus, is an alien.

-John Legend and Chrissy Teigen kill the red carpet, but the VP of Ops kinda’ ruins it when she refuses to stop showing me Chrissy Teigen Instagram posts that I don’t think are as funny as she does.  Look, she’s funny, but the VP of Ops treats her Instagram like it never misses the mark.  Meh.  It’s fine.  (VPOps will 100% send me an angry text about this).

-Whoever wins Best Actress will slowly walk up to the stage and then, out of nowhere, deliver their speech totally out of breath.  This happens every time and it drives me nuts.  Why are you out of breath when we JUST saw you WALK up to the stage?

-Incubus, unfortunately, will not be invited to perform “Pardon Me” as the rest of the “Best Song” nominees get to perform theirs even though “Pardon Me” should probably always be nominated for “Best Song” at every award show.

-Colin Firth will be shown in the audience and I will remind VP of Ops that I will never see a movie he’s in.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

I did not plan to bottom out as quickly as I did in front of an audience, but that’s exactly what has happened.  Cleveland lost last night, but Lebron smiled throughout the entire game and gave high-fives to EVERY PHILADELPHIA SEVENTY-SIXER WHO HAS EVER PLAYED FOR THE TEAM AND IT MAKES ME SO ANGRY BECAUSE IT’S LIKE HE DIDN’T EVEN CARE THAT I NOW HAVE TO MAKE A DEPOSIT TO GAMBLE AGAIN!  Seriously, this losing streak has gotten more than a little re-goddamn-diculous.  I will make a deposit probably after beer number 4 tonight when I’m itchin’ for a little action.  Tonight? Yeah, no friggin duh.  I am ready to be so fucking back with Golden State (-13) over Atlanta.

(My account is currently at $0.00)

K bye.

Dream Foods and TV Show Resurrections (3/1/2018)

MY WORLD:

When I used to wait tables there was a waitress, Sharon, who would ALWAYS talk to me about how, one day, she was going to reach a point in her life where she’d just eat whatever she wanted all the time.  I used to hope that I would someday reach such guilt-free recklessness with my diet.  Forget financial stability, finding a lifelong companion, or making a positive impact on ANYBODY else.  THIS (being an unapologetic fatso) was an achievable goal!  “DAD!  I’M GONNA BE SOMEBODY!”

This achievement continues to allude me.  Yesterday, I ate a medium-sized bag of peanut butter stuffed pretzels (MAJOR YUMMO ALERT) and had to immediately resort to “it’s okay, Jimmy, you ran yesterday and had to deal with a moderately annoying client today”-self talk.  The path towards happy-chubba-bubba-land is lined with unflattering pictures, “bad angles” and magazines that use something called an airbrush that I, A) do not know what the H it is, and B) DO NOT HAVE FUCKING ACCESS TO.  Brave little soldier that I am, I continue the climb.

I got a little chubby like 2 years ago (not huge, but I’m short so I went from short-normal to sturdy mini-fridge). I had been working a job I hated, and medicated with chips, heavy beers and NOT going to the gym (I reached a point where I had convinced myself that not going to the gym was good for me to do because the successful writers I read would always talk about how out of shape they were.  It was a blissful delusion).  I had run a marathon the year prior and decided that running that far in one day would keep me thin for the rest of my life.

My weight slowly rose according to the buttons on the waist of my pants (“We lost a lot of men that winter”–The story of Jimmy’s Winter 2015 Pants Buttons).  The decision had been made that I was a 31 waist for the rest of my life, so buying bigger pants was out of the question (if you can squeeze into them, they fit).  I remember sitting in my car, looking down at my thighs and thinking they were going to explode through my pants at any second.  It would be like when you rip open that cardboard tube of pillsbury biscuits and you almost hear the dough thank you on it’s way out.  Bending over was out of the question (if I had discovered a solid gold bar on the ground, I would have had to debate whether trying to bend down was worth risking the last pair of 31 pants that had yet to bust).  

Times were so dark that not only did I go pants shopping….not only did I go pants shopping at Old Navy….but I went pants shopping at Old Navy, bought size 34 pants AND got silently mad at the VP of Operations when she referred to Old Navy’s measurements as “vanity sizing”.  If you don’t know what “vanity sizing” means (I did not, and I wish I never had…stop reading if you’re where I was in 2015…this is about to ruin the dark, twisted fantasy that you’re living in) it’s basically a lie.  “Vanity Sizing” means that an Old Navy 34 is a real life, like 36-ish.  Chubbos like 2015 me go in to Old Navy, buy size 34 pants and tell the people around them that “it’s not that bad!”  I don’t understand how companies can lie about MEASURABLE statistics, but I also don’t hate that Old Navy has done so successfully.

My wedding and some VERY unfortunate pictures shamed me back into the gym.

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Bad long hair and a striking double chin.

I’ve gotten back into running and size 32/33 pants (acceptable…I was kinda’ lying when I said 31s earlier.  I fit into a pair of 31s for like a week after college.  It was V cool.)  But unhealthy food is SO EFFING GOOD that chubby Jimmy is always lurking in the snack aisles, and he CAME OUT TO PLAY yesterday.

My thing now is that I’ll eat healthy Monday-Thursday.  Friday is a “sure I’ll have a sandwich and chips” day, then Saturday and Sunday I take a heavenly dumpster dive into the world of pizza and fries (if baby Jesus doesn’t hand me a plate of fries on my way into heaven, I’m turning RIGHT BACK AROUND IN HIS FUCKING FACE).  So Monday-Thursday, I eat pretty much the same thing:  Banana and whole wheat english muffin for breakfast (nana and muffy!), a protein bar and small bag of nuts for lunch, workout, then ONE beer with a dinner consisting of a meat and veggie.

Yesterday, though, I went into an account that had a big bag of Salt and Vinegar Kettle chips sitting behind the bar (I sell beer which means I’m in my car, a bar, or a grocery store pretty much all day.  I cannot escape carbs).  I was supposed to be convincing this bar owner that he should carry the beer I sell, and all I could do was stare at this bag of Salt and Vins (Salt and Vinegar Kettle Chips are my KING CHIP.  I recently did a Top Ten Chip List with my friends and these wear the crown).  

When I went into Walgreens to buy my protein bar, almonds and water I lusted for the chip section (it’s a naughty place…and I’m a naughty boy).  I refused to directly pass the chip aisle for fear of not coming out alive.  So I got to the “nutrition” aisle of walgreens and bought my clay-flavored protein slab.  However, Walgreens did a nasty thing and moved peanut butter stuffed pretzels directly next to the nuts section.  I walked by the pretzels and, literally, gasped.  I’m not joking, I sucked air in as if to say “oh my my”.  After shooting a few flirty smirks and eyebrow raises towards these lil’ cuties, I composed myself enough to grab my small bag of plain almonds and continue playing “hard to get” with these nasty babies (peanut butter stuffed pretzels, Jimmy.  They’re peanut. butter. stuffed. pretzels. Jesus). 

38 minutes later I pulled into the next Walgreens I saw, bought a bag of peanut butter stuffed pretzels and ate the entire bag in my car, panting like a malnourished dog the entire time.

As I sat in traffic on the drive home, all I could think about were those fucking Old Navy pants.  Like I would get home and hear them chuckling in my closet.  I bargained that I could make up for those wasted calories by working out harder than I planned and not drinking my ONE beer that night.  TIP: Negotiating calories with yourself is something fun to do when you’re alone in your car during rush hour whilst thinking about opening the door to roll your fat ass under the biggest wheel of the oncoming Ford Astrovan.

If I could eat anything I wanted during the week without any of this psychological shrapnel, I’d probably go:

Breakfast: Breakfast Sandy–bacon, egg and cheese on a poppyseed bagel.

Lunch:  A fried buffalo chicken wrap and fries.

Snack:  Salt & Vinegar Kettle Chips…maybe a York peppermint paddy for that FRESH BREATH!

Dinner: Pepperoni Pizza.  Duh.

Dessert:  Ice-cream cookie (chocolate chip) sandwich.

What do you think of that, Sharon?

P.S. I drank a beer last night.  Fuck it.

OUR WORLD:

“Will & Grace” and “Roseanne” are either back, or about to be back, on tv and it has me a-thinkin’.  I’m not really a fan of either of those two shows because….uh….I don’t know, but I’m not.  I would, however, like to see the following shows make a similar return (also, if you haven’t seen these…uh….stop being a stupid idiot and watch them):

“Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip”:  Not many people remember this show because it came out the same year, on the same channel, directly after “30 Rock”.  A 60-minute drama written by Aaron Sorkin about the world of a show like “Saturday Night Live”.  Young, funny people with drug habits who are given fame and fortune = television gold. This show lasted one season THAT I LOVED.  Sure, the comedy sketches within the show could have been better, but spitting on a show that featured Bradley Whitford reciting Sorkin lines is a DANGEROUS PROPOSITION my friends.  This was like a candied version of “West Wing” and if you don’t like candy you can get the hell out.

“Oz”:  This is a Bill Simmons-take that I couldn’t agree with more.  I used to watch this show when I was in early-high school and it absolutely cemented me ranking “Going to Prison” as my number one fear in life.  (I have had heated conversations with friends about how I would rather be dropped into the middle of the ocean with a bloody leg).  “Oz” had super bad bad guys (J.K. Simmons can never pull off “cuddly, suburban dad” since this show) and V cool kinda bad guys (the All-State commercial guy is cool…but bad…but cool). Prison storylines on HBO are endless, so round up some Milennials to play new bad bad guys and V cool kinda bad guys, and you have a hit on your hands.   If you cannot tell yet, I did have to go to film school to learn these terms of analysis.  I’m working with a big toolbox here, guys.

“Friday Night Lights”:  This show, more than any show in the history of television, just needs to go on forever.  I think I had crushes on every single character at one-point throughout the show’s run.  I grew my hair out to try to look like Tim Riggins (note: simply wishing you had movie-star hair does not give you movie-star hair).  I bought the sunglasses thingy (crokeys?) that Coach Taylor wore around the back of his neck.  I was nicer to my grandparents because Saracen was a so nice to his grammy.  I think the reason I tell people I would move to Texas is because of this show (Austin is like too popular to be cool now, right? So, I have to be into like San Antonio?)  This show makes you a better person.  (Cue somber music…look at yourself in the mirror…you need to be better).   Aside from making you a better person, we can all agree that while Kyle Chandler and Taylor Kitsch should be absolutely THROATING the box office, they are not and most likely (DUE TO NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN) never will.  Therefore, I propose a new Hollywood rule: if a SMASH television show ends, but no one on the cast solidifies him or herself as a bonafide movie star in the 5 years following the show’s end, the entire cast must return to the show that made them stars for the rest of their lives.  Deal?  Good.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

American people who pronounce “Bruschetta”, Broo-sket-ah.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

Here’s the deal, guys.  I’m having a REAL hard time.  I place bets with two other dudes so that we’re always in the same boat.  Ride or die guys.  Unfortch, my picks have been EPICALLY HORRENDOUS since football season.  Therefore, while I wrote yesterday that I wanted to pick the Celts (-7), I had to cede control of my bet to one of my Ride or Die guys; and he picked Villanova (-6) over Seton Hall.

Villanova won by 1 on OT.  Celtics won by more than 20.  Cool.  V cool.

Needless to say, I am RATTLED.

Tonight, I hope to go with…oh sweet jesus PLEASE GIVE ME A WINNER…Cavs (-3) over Philly.

(My account currently at $3.49…I only make a deposit when I hit $0.00)

K bye.

2/27/2018

MY WORLD:

When do you grow out of the phase where you hope that parking tickets just magically go away for a few months, and then end up panicking that you’re going to have to pay double the fine?  I took my dog Belle (overused name?  I’m unoriginal? Well, we adopted her and kept her name so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed with change.  Welcome to “Jimmy is a Selfless Angel 101”) ANYWAY!  Took my dog Belle on a walk this morning and had a near panic attack that my parking ticket fine was doubling at that very instant.  I didn’t want to rush Belle’s morning dump but…like….SHIT ALREADY!

When I got back to my compound (lush carpets, wooden dressers, crotch-ripped GAP  boxer briefs from 2013 in that wooden dresser), I rushed to my computer but only after I made my morning english muffy with butter because it’s always good to start your day off with nutrition.  I burnt the muffy in my toaster 😦 BUT I ATE THE BURNT MUFFY CUZ I’M NOT WASTEFUL!!!

When I got to the payment page (shoutout http://www.cityofchicago.org/finance) I saw that my fine had not doubled, but that I did have a speeding camera ticket from July that has since doubled.  I’M SO HAPPY AT THIS MOMENT IN MY LIFE! I now owed $160.  Decision time for Little Jimmy, guys. Options: 1)  Pay the tickets using different credit cards that I don’t really use that much because they’re nearly maxed out, but not totally maxed out.  2)  Pay the tickets using the credit card I do use a lot because it gives me points and the successful people in my life talk about their points whenever I mention I’m driving to Nashville instead of flying.  3)  Don’t pay the tickets, ignore any phone calls I ever get from numbers I don’t know and make love to my wife like the naughty boy that I am.

I paid the tickets and got points.  I can’t wait to see what I can get with 160 points.

OUR WORLD:

Monday nights during “Bachelor” season are nearly as boneriffic (cool hetero in the building y’all!) as Sunday days during football season.  Much like getting to watch day, afternoon and night games on Sunday, Monday gives us the can’t-miss triumvirate  of “The Bachelor”, “Summer House” and “Vanderpump Rules”.  If you’re a single dude and not into these show and think I’m a loser for getting SERIOUSLY FUCKING EXCITED to watch Brachelor Monday then please leave me alone because you sound like a guy who bumps into people at bars just to yell “What?!” at them (Bravo/Bachelor mash-up = “Brachelor”…not my best work).

Per usual, the VP of Operations (My Wife, Erin) and I settled in for a night of shared eye rolls and basic-bitch, mean-girl fun at the expense of people who are paid enough to be the butt of married couples inside jokes.

Quick takes:

“The Bachelor”:  My disdain for Arie has gone down from the beginning of the season until now.  He’s a doof asked to play James Bond.  It’s been an awkward ride that hit it’s peak last night when he was forced to pretend he was tough with Becca’s ex showing up. (Becca’s ex, name?…let’s call him Jerry)  When Jerry showed up it was clear that A) He could make Arie cry in a thumb war, and B) Arie isn’t as good looking as Becca’s ex.  Knowing this (myself and the VP of Ops agreed on both of these so they are now facts for the record) Arie had to quickly resort to telling us how angry he was during the interview portion of the show.  Arie: “Viewers, I am very angry about this situation now that I am alone in a room talking about it in the past tense and not across from that walking push-up-contest asskicker Jerry.”  Jerry ended up getting embarrassed when Becca gave him the heisman, but Arie can never unsee the stronger, better looking person that Becca before him.  THAT SITUATION NEVER ENDS WELL FOR MEN’S BRAINS.

“Summer House”:  Missed most of it because the turkey tacos took too long, but I am Team Carl times a billion.  If you hug your crying mother, you win the show.  That blonde twin who wouldn’t stop frowning with a gun to her head is MAJOR NUTSO.  Run Carl.

“Vanderpump Rules”:  Lala…La La?….Lolla?….However the hell you spell her name, really grinds my gears. Can we agree that claiming to be an example for female empowerment while hosting at a shitty restaurant and living off your unnamed boyfriend’s bank account is a bit of an oxymoron?  The VP of Ops wants to agree with me on this soooo bad, but pretends that she doesn’t because sometimes LOLahh makes a catty comment that she approves of.  Oh, and poor Jax.  I have definitely tried to prove to people on vacay that I’m into fitness and then had it backfire (got in a fight with the VP of Ops once during a wedding weekend when we were sharing a hotel room with another couple.  She kicked me out of bed in the morning, so I pretended I was going to the gym.  Once in the hotel gym, hungover as fuck, I sat on the lazy exercycle–the one with the back–and slowly peddled until having to race-waddle to the bathroom with sudden onset diarrhea.)

LET’S LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

LET’S HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

NCAAB:  Oklahoma (+3.5) over Baylor

(My account currently at $55.19)

K bye.